A big thankyou for the encouraging reviews – they were very much appreciated.
A very big thankyou to Alaidh for the beta! I always wonder how I come to miss so many commas – not to mention all my other mistakes!
Chapter 22
It was gloomy in the main area of the warehouse as compared to the bright lights in the refrigeration room and it took Logan and Martin a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the comparative darkness.
Logan had pulled the coat from his legs and tossed it back to Martin before leaving the white-panelled room.
Once again they were facing an impressive array of gun power.
Logan could just make out two people standing in the shadows. Petrovsky's men stood on either side of them.
"Emma?" asked Martin a little uncertainly, staring at her while he shrugged his arms and shoulders back into his coat.
Max looked at her suspiciously, Martin with something like relief, and Logan with concern.
Emma, for her part, stood silently next to the man Max and Logan assumed was Petrovsky.
"I'm disappointed with your cousin, Martin," Petrovsky told him, walking slowly from the shadows to stand in front of Logan, beneath one of the hanging, overhead lights.
"I'm guessing you're Ivan Petrovsky," Logan said to him with a hint of attitude as he looked up at the impeccably groomed Russian.
"Where are the Hackett girls?" Petrovsky asked him bluntly.
Logan shrugged. "I don't know."
"You're lying," Petrovsky smiled down at him.
Logan looked back at him coolly. "The kids don't know anything about the money. Why bring them into it?"
"Because they're my leverage, of course - parental concern...all that sort of thing."
"I told him none of us know anything about the money, but he still doesn't believe me. He has some warped idea that if he gets all of us together he'll make us talk." Emma's voice came forth from the shadows with a note of pained resignation.
Logan looked quickly at Max. He knew she would be able to see Emma's expression regardless of the distance and half light.
"You're luckier than the others," Max told her. "You've still got both your arms," she congratulated her.
Abruptly, Emma stepped out from the shadows.
"Why shouldn't I have?" she asked them coldly.
"Because the dirtbag next to you has been killing off females about your age who wore any type of large ring," Max hazarded.
"Did you see Seth?" Emma asked Max, almost with a note of desperation. "Do either of you know where he is?" she added with raw concern, her pleading eyes now taking Logan in as well.
"The 'tsar' here brought you here. I'd assume he knows where Seth is too," Max suggested coolly to her.
"We haven't seen Seth," Logan told her gently, quick to perceive the crushed look that crossed her features at their news.
"So you must be Max," Petrovsky was saying in his clipped tones with a hint of an accent. "Martin has told me so much about you both," he added, as if they were friends of his son meeting for an afternoon basketball game.
"Well, I wouldn't believe most of what Martin said," Logan told the other quickly, wondering just what it was his cousin had told Petrovsky. "He's always had an overactive imagination."
Martin, standing a little behind Logan, shifted his feet uncomfortably.
Emma Belding now stared at Petrovsky with a look of confusion. "Why do you keep asking me about my ring? What are you on about?"
The elegantly dressed Russian let his eyes pass over the four of them with a speculative look. Finally he raised one eyebrow and said, "I don't see how it can hurt to tell you now..."
Max and Logan's eyes met briefly. Neither one liked the idea of what his words implied.
"Greville's been in charge of that little operation. We had someone 'talk' to Grant in prison. Naturally we were very keen to get our money back. He told us all about the ring, Miss Belding," he finished with a note of warning in his voice.
Emma looked at him with a confused expression, then she suddenly laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh, but rather one of bittersweet memories and deeply ingrained regret.
"So like Grant," she finally got out, her voice uneven with suppressed emotion. She appeared to be on the verge of tears. "He played you to the end."
"What are you talking about?" Greville asked her coldly, his veneer of impeccable self-control beginning to slip a little.
Emma composed herself enough to get out, "It was just a cheap ring my father bought me before he went away. Fake stone, fake gold, fake everything – just like everything else in my life," she added bitterly. "Grant and I used to joke about it. He'd read some whodunit where the clue was hidden in the wife's ring. He was always reading stupid mystery books and thrillers. Pity he never tried a romance novel," she quavered, trying to make it sound like a joke.
Greville stepped forward and grabbed her arm with his left hand, shaking it hard. "What about the ring?"
"Like I said – he played you right to the end. The ring meant nothing," Emma told him flatly to his face, and there was something in her eyes that made it almost impossible to doubt her.
Greville fell back from her, his expression difficult to read.
"You feeling a little guilty about killing those girls now, Greville?" Logan suggested with a hint of disgust.
Max looked at his shoes - brown, polished snakeskin. Her eyes then went to his fingers - he may have worn a ring on his right hand, but if he did, he hadn't swapped it to his left.
"Enough time wasting," Greville snapped to Petrovsky. "If we want the Hacketts we need to get the girls."
"Looks like you made a mistake, Greville," Logan continued. "You killed your source before verifying the intel was correct. Kinda inconvenient for you."
"He killed Grant?" Emma asked with wide eyes.
"Well, probably not him personally. I doubt if he or Petrovsky would go so far as to visit a prison," Logan told her.
"Yeah, it'd be too much like seeing their own future," Max added coldly.
"Shut up the both of you," Greville snapped.
"Why don't you just accept the fact that Grant was the only one who knew what happened to the money – and he's dead," Logan insisted emphatically.
"Because I...we," he quickly amended, "aren't about to give up that four million."
Max looked about her. Oleg looked as jittery as ever, but the other four holding guns on them looked particularly calm, almost bored. She didn't like the look – it told her they'd been in this situation too many times before.
Max felt frustration building deep within her – the frustration that comes with the responsibility of having others to think about. Zack had told her she was too reckless. Well, he was right. Left to herself she would have taken them all on, trusting her incredible speed and reflexes to outrun, out-think, and out-manoeuvre any of Petrovsky's goons who stood in her way. But instead she had three others to consider.
Perhaps this was the source of her frustration, she mused darkly. Her eyes went to Logan. She knew he must have been feeling like crap– he certainly looked like he was- but he was willing to put his life on the line time and time again for people he didn't even know. Max thought she'd willingly put her life on the line for the girls, her friends...Logan. But people like Martin? Emma Belding? What claim did they have over her? Why couldn't she just have dumped them when she'd wanted to and got Logan and herself the hell outta there when they'd had the chance? Yeah, what chance, Max? she reminded herself sardonically. Before they'd been driven to the warehouse...before Greville had showed up...before Logan looked like he was about to spill his breakfast onto the roadway?
She looked across at Petrovsky, who was studying Emma Belding's face intently. "Let her go," he remarked calmly to Greville. His eyes swung suddenly to Logan. "He could be right, Greville. Perhaps we've burnt all our bridges," he murmured thoughtfully.
Greville let go of Emma, but said at once, "We can still get the children...make the Hackett's talk. I don't believe for a moment they know nothing. I don't believe she knows nothing," he added, trying hard to make it sound as though he believed his own words.
Now Greville looked at Logan. "He knows where the girls are," he told Petrovsky softly, his eyes gleaming nastily above his swollen jaw. "Cover them!" he suddenly snapped, without removing his gaze.
Within seconds, the five men who'd been covering them with their weapons from a distance all leapt forward, as if in a rehearsed movement. Max looked around to find each man holding a rifle within inches of the heads of Emma, Logan, Martin and herself. The fifth man had no favourite – apparently he was prepared to shoot anyone. That was big of him.
"Vladimir. You have your knife?" Greville asked the fifth man casually. When he received a slight nod, he looked at Logan. "I want you to tell me where the girls are."
"What makes you think I know?" Logan asked him evenly.
"Don't waste my time, Mr. Cale," Greville snapped.
"You're loosing your cool. Maybe you know I'm right and all this is a waste of time," Logan told him, leaning back in a relaxed pose that hid the unease he actually felt.
"Well, it's my time. If I want to waste it, that's my prerogative, so humour me...where are the girls?" he finished in a menacing manner, looming over Logan like the local, schoolyard bully.
Max forced herself to relax. She knew she had to play the game, but she felt she already had a few scores to settle with Greville. I'm counting, she warned him silently.
Logan looked unconcerned. He gave a small shrug. "I don't know."
"Vladimir. The knife!" called Greville without taking his eyes from Logan's face. Logan met his gaze with a bland one of his own. Damn, I know what's coming, he fumed inwardly.
"The girl..."
Logan held his breath.
"Max."
Something, somewhere inside his body did something strange, but he managed to breathe out slowly as he watched Vladimir walk behind Max, holding the long, silver knife in his hand with an almost reverential regard. In a quick movement he suddenly brought his hands in front of her face and held the knife in front of Max's slender, neck. She didn't move. She didn't look at Logan. She looked vaguely bored.
Greville kept his eyes on Logan's face while he made a small signal with his left hand.
In a heartbeat, the razor-sharp edge of the knife was pressed against the smoothness of her dark, honey-coloured skin.
Logan watched, fascinated as a tiny bead of blood trickled below the blade.
He swallowed resolutely. "I don't know where they are." He hoped his voice sounded firm...unconcerned. Heaven knows his heart was anything but that.
Max was looking at him now, and he almost couldn't manage to meet her gaze.
"The girls," Greville insisted, while Petrovsky looked on with the ghoulish delight of one attending a hanging.
Vladimir pressed firmer on the blade and this time Logan saw the knife cut in to her beautiful neck, the transgenic blood that had almost healed him welling up behind the blade then spilling down her silky smooth skin, all the while her eyes looking at him appealingly...
"Tell us now," the voice insisted again, and Logan stared back at Max to see her looking at him with a worried expression, regardless of the sharp blade now held tightly to her throat and several small rivulets of blood beginning to appear.
"Logan," she mouthed silently at him while all eyes were concentrated on him.
"I'll tell you," he whispered, hands tightly gripping the wheels of his chair.
A hushed silence seemed to descend over the warehouse floor.
Logan didn't look up. He wondered bleakly if this was how Martin had felt.
"Well?" Petrovsky prompted him. He looked a little disappointed that the spectacle had finished so quickly.
"The address?" Greville added with an eagerness for the final kill.
Logan swallowed once more. He struggled to get the words out.
He sensed rather than saw the blade returning to Max's neck.
"They're at an Asian grocery store...not far from here." In a dull voice, that didn't even sound like his own, he gave them the address.
"How can we be sure he's telling the truth?" Petrovsky queried the other.
Greville looked at Logan. He smiled. "If he's not telling the truth, I'll put a bullet in her...and I'll keep putting one in her until we have them."
Logan looked up at him. His usually guarded expression slipped and, for a short moment, he looked at Greville with something like hate before he looked away again.
"Take them back to the cooler," Greville told the guards. Suddenly he reached down and put a hand on the wheel of Logan's chair to prevent him spinning around.
Logan didn't look up this time.
"We'll make sure you don't miss the fun and games when the girls are brought back here," Greville told him in the manner of one promising a special treat.
A slight narrowing of his eyes was the only indication Logan gave that he'd even heard his words. As soon as Greville let go he pushed on angrily to where Martin and Emma were already being shepherded through the door.
Max followed him, a sneer on her full lips as she walked past Petrovsky's lieutenant.
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Once they were all back in the cooler, the door slammed shut behind them with an ominous sense of finality.
No one spoke.
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Petrovsky wasted no time in despatching his men.
The black car sped into the darkness of the dimly lit Seattle streets.
The sun that had shone so brightly earlier had sunk below the earth, leaving a blood-red stain on the horizon.
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A dreadful pall shrouded all those in the cool room as the fate of the girls occupied each of their thoughts.
Martin had returned to his slumped position against the wall. Emma leaned against the wall opposite – perhaps her thoughts more on the fate of Seth than the Hackett girls.
Max paced restlessly. Being cooped up in a room never suited her. The desire to kick some ass was flowing unrestrained through her veins.
Logan studied the back of his hands. He knew it was too early to expect the return of Petrovsky's men, but he looked up several times as he imagined the sound of a revving engine.
Max had tried to talk to him earlier but all he'd said was, "Don't," swinging his chair away quickly.
He didn't want her sympathy, her excuses. The blame must rest firmly with him. It had been his plan and the responsibility for it must rest solely on his shoulders.
Max paused in her pacing for a moment, listening intently. Her lack of movement attracted Logan's attention and he looked towards the door as well.
Martin and Emma didn't move. Both now sat slumped against different parts of the wall, in varying attitudes of dejection.
When no one entered, Max looked across at Logan, who had pushed himself to the opposite side of the room - away from her, away from Emma and Martin. It was as if he'd found the equivalent position to the one he used at home. It made her think of the times she'd caught him staring moodily out his huge picture windows, completely absorbed in his own world of pain or regret or any number of other emotions that he kept locked away far too deep to share with her.
He didn't meet her gaze, instead returning to the study of his hands. He had amazing hands, she thought inconsequentially, doubting very much if he knew it. He'd been nothing other than surprised and uncomfortable at Charlie's offer to sketch them.
Max watched him for some moments, feeling indecisive - wondering why it was only Logan who affected her this way.
Making up her mind, she strode over to him.
"You had no choice," she said, standing in front of him, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"That supposed to make it easier?" he retorted, looking up at her with an expression that said 'it clearly didn't'.
"Guess not," she admitted tightly, returning his gaze. Unexpectedly, her eyes softened. "Responsibility's a bitch," she added with a sincerity he rarely heard.
It shook him a little – he'd become so used to his own self-imposed isolation in dealing with problems.
When he didn't reply, Max looked across at Martin and Emma. "Hardly the touching reunion," she murmured to Logan as her eyes swept over them.
Logan looked across at them briefly. "She's probably worried about Seth."
"That reminds me - Emma said Seth remembered the guy he saw with the body at South Market having shiny shoes and a gold ring. I was wondering..."
She broke off abruptly as the door unexpectedly swung open and Oleg came in with a gratuitous smile plastered on his face.
"They want you," he informed them as he waved the gun about the room with a jerky, nervous manner. His eyes darted from one to the other as if he couldn't concentrate on any one thing for more than a few seconds.
Without a word, Logan headed toward the doorway. Max ushered Emma and Martin to go in front of her, then, forcing herself, she gave Oleg a small smile before she left the room and entered the main warehouse once more.
Petrovsky stood there with Greville by his side. The latter was talking on his cell. Three of their ubiquitous, black-suited goons held guns on them, along with the twitchy Oleg.
The odds were so much better now, thought Max.
It was tempting...but could she risk people, someone, getting hurt?
"I just had a call from my men," Petrovsky greeted them with great bonhomie. "They are on there way back here with the girls. That's good news for you, my dear," he added to Max.
"You're so considerate," she told him with a hint of sarcasm. "Is there a bathroom around here somewhere? I gotta pee," she enunciated clearly.
The older man's smile slipped a trifle at the coarseness of her speech. "Oleg," he snapped. "Show the young 'lady' to the bathroom."
Max gave Oleg one of her wide smiles. "Which way?" she positively purred in a voice low enough that only he could hear.
Logan watched her go, careful to keep his suspicions to himself. He now wished he'd talked to her, considered options when he had the chance, instead of brooding over events he had no control over.
Damn.
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"Wow, it's so dark back here," Max remarked ingenuously to the young Russian. "Just where are you taking me, anyway," she asked with raised brows, a provocative smile on her face.
"The bathroom is down this hallway," Oleg replied, scarcely able to take his eyes off her shapely behind as he followed her, the gun in his hand all but forgotten.
Finally Max stopped at a door with a faint 'W' stencilled on it. She turned to face him with a 'come hither' smile. "Wanna join me?"
The young Russian didn't stop to ponder the strangeness of her request or the unusual timing or even the far more obvious notion that perhaps she was playing him. Drugs have a way of addling the brain when consumed in large amounts over the course of a few years.
In his excitement, Oleg grunted something that she took for a 'yes' as he motioned for her to enter the squalid bathroom first. He never noticed the cold, stale air, or the tiled walls, that had once been a pristine white, that were now a fashionable shade of dull, 'post-Pulse' grey.
Even more unfortunate for Oleg, he didn't notice the subtle change to Max's smile.
Max took him with ridiculous ease. A swinging kick to remove the gun from already slack fingers, and a fist following through in classic style to his jaw. His head jerked back and hit the wall with the type of thud that told her it would be quite some time before he got up again.
Max quickly dragged him away from the door and hid him in one of the cubicles as a precaution in case anyone came searching. Her next move was to hastily check through his pockets. She looked at him with a hint of disappointment – she had found no cell phone on him.
Her next action was to tuck the gun he'd held so unskilfully in his hand into the band of her black pants. Max was just checking the mirror to be sure that the gun was well hidden beneath her jacket when the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the warehouse with startling intensity.
Max reacted immediately.
In a smooth movement she was out the door and back to the warehouse area where the others were being held. Instead of running out immediately, she used a stack of wooden pallets for protection and peered around it.
Had he gone too far...he'd been so worried about the kids...so unforgiving with himself...had he lost all sense of judgement...pushed Petrovsky too far...baited Greville once too many?
There was a figure lying on the ground. Greville stood over him – his gun still smoking.
"Logan," she murmured.
She hadn't realized just how worried she'd been until she saw conclusively that the figure wasn't him.
Double-checking that the gun was still well hidden beneath her jacket, she strolled over to where the others were grouped in a shocked tableau.
"So, there is no honour among thieves after all," she said quietly as she headed towards them.
"Stand still," Greville told her sharply. "Where's Oleg?"
"Can you believe that jerk wanted me to wait while he peed! I told him you gotta be kidding, an' I swung on back here by myself. You got a problem with that?" she finished calmly. "Looks to me like you've got a bigger problem in front of you."
She went to stand next to Logan who was closest to the body, but Greville waved her back imperatively. "Stay where you are," he snapped.
Max, much to her dissatisfaction, found herself next to Martin instead, who was gazing at the body of Petrovsky with morbid fascination. It wasn't a pretty sight – but then violent death rarely is.
"You two have a falling out?" Max asked Greville affably.
Logan spoke up, turning his head a little in her direction. "It looks like Greville, here, was never taught to share."
"That was bad luck for Petrovsky," Max pointed out. She wasn't sure why, but she was relieved to hear Logan's voice sounding strong and firm with its usual note of irony. Perhaps it was good to know she wasn't alone in this mess that was becoming uglier by the minute. Perhaps it was good to know he wasn't spacing – that he still had his wits about him.
"I guess he had to do the deed before the Russian's bodyguards got back with the girls," Logan remarked pensively, swinging around as his gaze left that of the corpse to rest on Greville's coldly composed features.
"Yeah, he looks reeel cut up about it, too," agreed Max.
"Shut up you two," ground out Greville. "Oleg!"
"Is this where we say 'All hail the Tsar'?" frowned Max at Logan as if she were genuinely concerned about not following so fine a point of protocol.
"Oleg!"
Logan considered the point. "I don't think so. I think there's usually some kind of cere..."
"Shut up!" shouted Greville this time, bringing his gun to bear on Emma Belding, who had stood rooted to the spot after Petrovsky's body had hit the ground. She looked at the gun with wide eyes. "Is that what you did to Seth?" she whispered hoarsely. "Did you kill him too?" she unexpectedly shrieked at him, moving forward as if she wanted to strike him, regardless of the weapon he held in his hand.
Logan, who was closest, suddenly pushed himself in front of her, forcing her to stop abruptly. She stared over him at Greville, her chest rising and falling in quick, agitated breaths.
"You can't shoot her. You need her," Logan told the other man calmly.
Greville switched his gaze to Logan. His voice held a note of regret. "I told Petrovsky you were trouble, but it's not too late to remedy the problem."
"I hate to interrupt all this, but hadn't you better cover up the body before the girls arrive?" Max asked Greville loudly, forcing him to turn his attention to more pressing matters.
Greville looked at her as if he was strongly tempted to turn his gun on her as well, but instead, his eyes still on her face, he barked out, "Vladimir, cover the body."
The sound of a car's engine outside the sliding doors made them all look up.
Greville had three of his henchman grouped about them as they all waited in various stages of concern. Again she tried to step closer to Logan, but Greville motioned her away.
"I don't think so," Greville told her silkily. "I prefer you right where you are. Why don't you see if you can bolster up poor Martin? He looks like he needs it. Popov, the door."
Logan cast a quick glance at Max before spinning his chair back to face the doorway. His hands felt slick on the metal.
All eyes were now fastened on the doors as Popov slowly slid them back.
Max took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip the gun out of her pants and slip it into Martin's coat pocket.
She sensed his sudden tensing and quickly squeezed his arm hard as a warning. "If anything happens, get this gun to Logan," she whispered under her breath. Martin had the sense not to turn around, but almost immediately, small beads of perspiration began to break out on his forehead.
The doors were open now, and the large black car drove into the warehouse.
Logan strained anxiously to see inside the car. He couldn't see the girls, but he clearly saw Petrovsky's men at the wheel. He didn't think he'd ever felt so full of loathing for himself.
He watched numbly as Petrovsky's four men got out of the car. Well, he assumed they were Petrovsky's. Who knew how deep the defection had gone.
"We have the girls," one of them called across to Greville. "Where is Petrovsky?"
Uncannily, the man's eyes went to the wet drag mark that ended behind the wooden pallets. Logan saw a look of suspicion in his eyes. The eyes changed to show a startling shock of pain as the bullet slammed into his left shoulder. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.
At that moment, it seemed to Logan as if the world suddenly exploded. The deafening sound of gunfire erupted like fireworks on the fourth of July all over the warehouse.
Max dived at the closest gunman, while Emma ran terrified to cower behind the pallets.
Logan had only one thought in mind – to get to the girls. With that intent he pushed hard to head towards them as quickly as possible, only to turn around in his seat with fury as he felt a hand on the top of the chair back holding him back. Martin was cowering behind him, but he thrust the gun into Logan's hands.
"Take cover," yelled Logan to him above the noise, checking at the same time that the gun was fully loaded.
Taking a quick glance he saw Max throw a black-suited guy over her shoulder. Without further pause he tossed the gun in his lap and hurriedly continued the short distance to the car.
He headed around the side of the car closest to the warehouse doors and furthest from the fighting, but Logan didn't even have a chance to glance in the windows before he saw Greville rushing towards the car. Logan pushed toward the front of the car, using the front side panel for cover.
"Greville," he called loudly above the increasingly sporadic din of gunfire.
Greville looked up, but showed no inclination to stop, only heading on purposefully toward the driver's door of the car.
"Greville," Logan called again, this time showing the gun he held in his hand clearly to the other man.
Logan read the expression of intent clearly in the man's eyes. He had no intention of giving up the girls - no intention of losing that four million.
Both guns spurted a deadly emissary at the same time.
Greville's bullet missed completely, flying harmlessly past Logan to imbed itself in the wall. Logan's bullet found it's mark, but regardless of the fact that it passed through the top fleshy part of his arm, Greville charged forward with the fury of one who sees his cleverly thought out plan coming to nought.
Before Logan had another chance to fire, Greville launched himself across the hood of the car, both arms, cast-encased one included, outstretched with the desire to choke the life out of the person he was happiest to blame for his own failures.
Logan had a brief impression of Greville's furious face sliding towards him, when suddenly a black figure landed cat-like on the car and placed both her hands on the back of Greville's jacket to stop him. Max hauled him up until he was standing with her on the hood of the car. In one swift move the gun that he was trying to remove from his jacket pocket was wrenched from his hand and tossed away.
Logan looked up at her, only to jump as another gunshot erupted very close to him. He raised his own gun once more and prepared to defend Max if need be.
Only Max's cool presence of mind stopped her from hitting the ground as Greville's body was wrenched from her grasp with the force of the bullet that pierced him straight through the heart.
She looked down with disgust at the crumpled pile of flesh, bones and clothing that had once had the bad taste to call itself a man.
Not another sound erupted. She looked down at Logan to see if he was as surprised as she was by this sudden turn of events but he just put his head down on his arms where they rested on the hood of the car.
Max quickly jumped down from the car to stand beside him.
"You have a habit of turning up at opportune moments," Logan heard Max say. Quickly lifting his head he saw a man walking towards them, his gun still drawn.
It was the FBI agent Max had knocked out in the alley alongside the department store a few days previously.
"Put your guns down. This is the police. We have this area surrounded."
The loud speaker boomed with authority as the two, slightly beat-up unmarked police cars headed up to the warehouse doors.
Logan and Max looked around to see the few combatants who were still standing quickly toss down their weapons. It appeared as though the demise of both Petrovsky and Greville had dimmed their ardour.
Logan wasted no time in heading back to the passenger door of the car. With a wildly thumping heart he opened it and peered into the dark interior.
Two small forms lay deathly still, squeezed below the two seats of the car. Genevieve's body was on top of her sister, shielding her protectively.
"Genevieve, Monique," he called intently.
When they didn't respond he said, "Hey, it's Logan. It's safe now."
Very slowly, Genevieve lifted a wary head. "Is it all over?" she asked in a small voice.
Logan grinned back at her. "It's all over."
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Matt Sung, his arm still in a sling, was full of apologies for his late arrival.
"I'm sorry Logan. It took me longer than I expected to organize backup. By the time we got to the grocery store, Petrovsky's men had already left with the girls."
"Lu and his family?" queried Logan intently.
"Unharmed," Matt assured him. "Tied up, but unharmed."
"It was a close call," Logan murmured, mentally berating himself. He felt cold and more than just sick at the thought of what might have happened to the girls if Matt had gotten there any later or if Petrovsky and Greville had stayed allies, or if Jaeger, the FBI Agent hadn't turned up at that point to check out a lead, or if...a hundred other scenarios.
They were grouped about Logan's Aztek: Matt Sung, Jaeger, the FBI Agent, Logan and Max.
The girls had been placed back in the warmth of the car they had been brought in and driven to the street outside the warehouse. One of Matt Sung's men, for the time being, protected them.
They had been incredibly excited when Jaeger announced to them that their parents were in his care, safe and well.
Once the kids had been driven outside, Max and Logan had looked at him in amazement. "You knew where the kids' parents were all this time?" Logan asked, looking at the stylishly attired agent with an expression of incredulity.
Jaeger had smiled easily at them. "Not entirely... no, but at the time it seemed, well, at least until today, that the girls were safer with you. We've had the problem of a leak in the department," he explained with a serious note of regret. "Once we checked you out Mr. Cale, we had no reason to believe that you had anything but the best interests of the kids at heart."
"You could have saved those kids a lotta heartache if you'd let them in on your secret earlier," Max told him, not entirely happy with his explanation.
She looked about her. The warehouse was strangely quiet after the noise of the gun battle and the hurried work of the police and ambulance crews to minister to those who were hurt.
Martin and Emma sat quietly on a couple of chairs someone had found, both waiting to give their statements. Even as she watched, she saw Martin hesitantly put his arm around the girl's shoulder. Emma appeared to tense for the merest moment, then Max could see her relax into his hold. Perhaps Martin thought he was doing something right for a change, she mused with bitter humour.
She wondered how the girls were - how this would affect them. She felt a sudden surge of desire to see them safely back in the arms of their parents – away from the dramas of the Petrovskys and the Grevilles and the ugly life of Seattle's underworld. They needed a new start...somewhere fresh.
Max cast a quick glance in Logan's direction. Her frown deepened as she watched him.
He looked up at her. "What is it?"
"I'm just gonna check on the kids. See how they're doin'," she told him casually.
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"Max, Max, we're gonna see our mommy and daddy," Genevieve greeted her excitedly when she opened the door of the car. In her hand Max held Monique's doll.
"Hey, I found someone who needed a cuddle," she smiled at the younger child.
"My bay-beeee," Monique screamed with delight, reaching out her arms and taking the doll in a tight cuddle.
"Max. Max!" She turned to see Matt Sung running towards her.
"You'd better come here," he told her, plainly worried.
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"Well, I thought you were gonna sleep the day away," a voice said with gentle humour as Logan opened first one eye, then both, only to squint as the brightness stung.
"Max?" he asked with surprise, thinking to himself, This is all wrong...she shouldn't be in my bedroom.
"You feelin' any better?" she asked, walking over to stand by the side of his bed where he could clearly see her.
Logan went to ask her, 'Better than what?' when he suddenly realized that his chest was bare and she was standing there, smiling down at him. He felt the quick flush of heat to his face.
At that, Max looked dismayed. "You don't have a fever again, do you?" she asked quickly.
Logan could only shake his head with confusion. "I feel like I'm missing something here," he admitted tentatively.
Max looked at him for a moment, the merest hint of a smile on her face, which made Logan feel all the more uncomfortable. He knew he'd had some wild dreams – well he'd assumed they were dreams.
"Mind if I take a seat?" she asked, motioning towards the bed.
"Sure," Logan said trying to sound relaxed. He wanted to sit up, but he felt he needed at least a T-shirt on before he did that. Instead, he settled for slipping his glasses on, which were in their usual place, on the nightstand beside the bed. The thought gave him pause. He couldn't remember putting them there. He couldn't remember anything about the previous night.
"So, where were we?" smiled Max.
"We were about to tell me why I don't remember..." he tried to think what it was he didn't remember, but even that he wasn't sure of so he left it at that.
"Probably the medication or the fever," Max shrugged. "You were pretty zonked there for a while."
Logan frowned. He didn't like the sound of this at all. "Zonked?" he queried doubtfully.
Max just looked at him. "You really don't remember any of it, do you? Petrovsky, Greville, being held in the warehouse...?"
Logan felt like, somewhere in his mind, the pieces of a fragmented puzzle were beginning to slot together, but with that came the remembrance of a nameless, illusive fear that had troubled him as he slept. His face, which a moment ago had been tinged with pink, suddenly went as white as the pillows he lay on.
"Max. The girls," he said intently, struggling up on his elbows regardless of his naked state.
"All cool. They're safe with the FBI man. He has Emma too. Your plan worked. You got them all out...the girls...Martin...Emma."
Logan lay back again at her words, feeling weak with relief. "Thank God!" he murmured with feeling, closing his eyes for a moment. It was tempting to let himself slide back into a truly restful sleep, now that he knew the truth.
"Well, it's about time you woke up," Bling's voice penetrated his thoughts. "Here, lift you arm so I can check your blood pressure. Then we'll check your temperature."
Another thought occurred to Logan as he opened his eyes to watch Bling. "How did I get here? What happened?" He looked from one to the other.
"You don't remember passing out?" Max asked him bluntly.
Logan frowned in an effort to make his mind more pliable.
"Well, your temperature's perfect again," Bling told him, checking the digital readout. "I'd better call Dr. Forrest and let him know."
Realization began to flood back to Logan. The infection...the knees...the fever. With a sudden grimace, he remembered clearly how awful he'd felt for most of the evening's events – whatever they were.
"I remember talking to Matt and the FBI Agent..."
"Jaeger," put in Max helpfully.
"... and the next moment I was staring at his shoes and it was like..." he searched for the words he wanted with a faraway look, "...I was being drawn down to them...like... some kinda magnet or something." He stopped abruptly, a little embarrassed by the imagery he was describing. "It felt kinda weird," he admitted self-consciously, returning to the safety of plainer speech..
"I've been there," Max told him seriously, looking into his expressive eyes behind the steel-framed glasses.
Logan held her gaze for the briefest of moments, only to look away suddenly when Bling, now off the phone, said, "So Max called me, and I called Dr. Forrest."
"As it turned out they were kinda run off their feet at Metro Medical so your doctor told us to bring you home. Seems they had a few gunshot victims to contend with," she added dryly.
"Which Max did," Bling informed him. "Saved your bacon from a hospital stay. You were lucky..."
"Your doctor had some super-duper kick-ass antibiotic to try out on you."
"Did the trick in no time," Bling added.
"Now all you gotta do is rest," Max told him.
"For at least a day," Bling added warningly.
"What are you two...Tweedledee and Tweedledum?" Logan asked irritably, throwing them a dark look. The thought crossed his mind that a shower would go down well, but he still hadn't ascertained how far his nakedness went and he didn't want to simply blurt out the question to Bling with Max there.
In the end he said, "You got a T-shirt I could put on, Bling?"
"I'll get you a fresh one," his trainer said at once, disappearing into his dressing room.
"It's Monday. You need to be going to work," Logan told Max as the next realization hit him. He was finding it increasingly annoying only remembering the last twenty-four hours in vague snippets.
"It's all good. I got OC to cover for me...said I'd be in a bit late." Max stood up and walked across to the window. Now that he was awake she felt a little awkward in having been in his room when he woke up. She felt some explaining was necessary. "I was just in here because Bling needed someone to cover for him for a half hour while he went out and bought some things," she explained casually, this time feeling herself redden the tiniest bit. She wasn't sure she wanted to tell him that she'd stayed because she had been worried about him, that she'd almost worn a hole in the floor in front of the windows in his living room with her pacing
Logan merely nodded, then asked, "What about Seth?" with renewed intensity, frowning as he thought back to Emma's concern for her brother.
"I was just about to tell you that," said Bling, tossing Logan a T-shirt as he came back into the room. "Detective Sung just called. They found him locked in the basement of your safe house. He had a bump on the head, but was otherwise okay. You got your boxers on by the way," he added, accurately reading Logan's hesitation in sitting up.
Logan threw him an annoyed look, which Bling blithely ignored, then put his hands on the bed either side of himself to sit up. Once his head reached a certain angle, the bed and everything in the room seemed to waver alarmingly, and in a flash of insight he reconstructed perfectly the awful moments before the lights had gone out the night before.
The intense sensation of feeling like he was burning up, coupled with uncontrollable trembling...Matt Sung's concerned face...Matt's voice calling him from a long way away...the nausea...Jaeger's shoes...expensive, black, highly polished...falling...endlessly...
"Whoa," said Logan suddenly, waiting for the vertigo to pass.
"Whoa," he said a second time, with more intensity as the meaning of what he'd just seen in his mind sank in.
"You okay?" asked Bling with concern, grabbing a few pillows to prop behind him and forcing him back onto them with a firm hand.
He didn't answer Bling.
He looked across at Max instead.
He couldn't see the sudden worry in her dark eyes. Somewhere in his mind he could see her whispering something to him about shoes and gold rings.
"What did Seth say about the guy who killed the body in the alley?" he asked her abruptly.
"Shiny shoes, gold ring," Max told him promptly. "Greville had those shiny brown, snakeskin shoes," she added quietly.
Logan just looked at her. She thought he looked as ill as he had the night before.
"Oh my God," he said quietly, and he'd never said a more fervent prayer in his life. "We got the wrong shoes."
TBC